


Planted

by hannahrhen



Series: Prompted [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack and Angst, Deception, Gender Roles, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Mpreg, POV Natasha Romanov, Sexual Content, Stereotypes, fertility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thunderfrost prompts from my tumblr ... starting with Thor mpregging the hell out Loki, and going from there.</p><p>(Chapter 3 has spoilers for Thor: The Dark World.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki birthed their first child in secret, in a damp, cool cave deep below the lowest halls of Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still want to mpreg the hell out of Loki. Inspired by [this post I made](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/post/63591623835/tempted-to-skip-thor-2-altogether-and-spend-the) and the littering!Loki of [Ice and Dust and Light](http://archiveofourown.org/series/19686).

Loki birthed their first child in secret, in a damp, cool cave deep below the lowest halls of Asgard.

He held her only long enough to determine her sex and ensure she was healthy, and to cast a spell. Once the glamour over the child was in place—once he knew it would hold—he left the quiet girl on a doorstep in the village outside Asgard’s golden walls. She’d become a younger child of a family Thor barely knew, but one that was generally admired by Thor’s people. Father a farmer, mother a fine leathercrafter. Kind people, if unremarkable.

They would take the child, who would lead a fine, if unremarkable life.

Once his body healed, he released the spell that hid his shape from Thor, who never even realized Loki had been pregnant.

The trouble with fucking a fertility god, though? Once was not enough. 

For either of them.

He was with child again the next season, contraceptive spells less than adequate against overpowered seed and a goodnatured, enthusiastic bedmate who had no reason to think he’d impregnate his _brother._ This boy Loki left near the girl, a house just two plots away, with another gentle but plain family. Would have to stay close to nudge them apart, son and daughter, brother and sister.

Siblings in the line of Odin seemed naturally attracted to each other, after all.

He’d heard the rumors, after the boy was discovered and taken in—the curiosity of two babes left but a year apart, the close resemblance, with none in the village obviously pregnant. Asgard wasn’t populous enough to mask that much secrecy, and Loki knew another offered-up child could turn the people from perplexed to suspicious.

The next babe? Gifted to one of Thor’s protected Midgardians, because, despite the secrecy, he couldn’t bear the thought of Thor’s children being too far from their father’s purview. He’d haunted all of them, silently, for months, until he thought he knew enough of Captain Rogers to understand the man would welcome a child, would care for it—would be a _parent._

He was strong enough and long-lived enough to serve the child.

Thor continued to take. Loki let himself be taken. He owed Thor that, after Midgard. After Malekith. Couldn’t make himself turn Thor away, and couldn’t deny one of the few ways in which Thor’s power was stronger than Loki’s. Thor’s worthiness, yes. And his ability to beget children, even with a malformed and wicked Jötunn.

Loki could have laughed. Instead, he comforted himself with the lies. Eventually the realms would be bursting at the seams with Loki and Thor’s get, children all bespelled to hide their varied collections of blue skin, lines, and horns. To favor blond hair over black, blue eyes over red. Inside, they were Loki’s offspring. On the outside…well, a new babe left in the village, carrying the same features and more than slightly resembling their crown prince, really _would_ spark rumors.

There would be no new babe left behind this time, though, for Thor discovered him as he strained through the end of his labor. As if the pain of birth weren’t enough, he now had to contend with his brother’s horrified face.

They didn’t speak. Thor caught the boy, and then, a few minutes later, his brother. After but a cursory check to ensure Loki was healing, Thor cut the cords with a dagger from his boot, wrapped the babes in his cloak, and held them close.

“These, I will keep.” Thor’s words were quiet, but his color was high. “ _You_ will go.” Apparently the rumors had traveled farther than Loki had realized. He’d been rather occupied. Thought Thor would understand the gift, if discovered—understand that Loki hid these children to spare the future king the awkwardness of his halfbreed, bastard children. That he gave himself to Thor to because Thor deserved it, and because Loki deserved no better.

But, apparently, it was just one more betrayal in a long line. There was only one thing Loki could do right, and that was to leave, and he did, never touching or seeing those last two, their youngest.

He stayed away for many long years, through Thor’s rise to the throne, through Asgard’s settlement into renewed peace and prosperity. Until the youngest were grown and all were reunited through fosterage in their father’s great hall …

+++

Loki had held no illusions that his whereabouts were unknown for those many years—he knew he was spied upon either by Heimdall or by that old bastard Odin, while he lived. Loki allowed himself to be seen, so Thor would know he had heeded the final command.

Still, even knowing it was futile, Loki crept into the throne room with a shielding spell over himself, hoping what little stealth he could manage would give him some—

The long-denied sight of his brother stilled his thoughts.

Thor … looked older. Observing from behind a pillar, tucked off to one side, Loki could see the now-king only in profile. Thor looked, yes, just as strong, just as gilded. Just as resolute. He also seemed weary. Older. Had taken on more of Odin’s aspect than just the seat. Thor clearly found no reason to hide his weakness, now, given that the hall was nearly empty at this hour of late-afternoon.

As Loki carefully watched, he saw Thor’s mouth twist. He turned to the two armored guards that stood together, just behind him. Seemed to hesitate for a moment before addressing them: “Boys—”

 _Oh._ Loki’s attention snapped to them as they acknowledged their father.

“—go see if your grandmother needs assistance with the preparations for the feast.”

Loki didn’t miss the incredulous look one son gave the other, obviously disapproving of the errand they were given, and … Norns, they were _identical_. And they looked just like younger versions of their father. Still slight in late adolescence, and faces layered with traces of baby fat, but Loki knew those features as he knew Thor’s own.

He saw a hitch—a hesitation—before one jerked his head at the other, and they both offered a simple “yes, Father,” before stepping from the dais and making their way to the main entrance of the hall.

Loki couldn’t help but crane his neck from his vantage point to watch them stride away in unison. They walked as Thor once did, as if the hall already belonged to them. Loki’s smile was slight, hidden behind a hand, and it faded quickly. It was the first he’d seen of them, and possibly the last.

The voice interrupted his self-pitying turn: “You really made a mess of things, brother.” Ah, yes—only the illusion of stealth, he was reminded. Loki allowed himself a moment to exhale before he turned his sight back to the throne, where Thor was regarding him as though no shroud veiled him at all.

He stepped out from behind the pillar as he dropped the spellwork, tried an irritated tone. “How long have you known I was—”

“I always know where you are, Loki.” Thor turned his shoulders toward his brother, but didn’t rise. Just rested his chin on an upturned palm, as if considering this newcomer and trying to decide upon on a course of action.

Loki snorted and crossed his arms. “So, I muddled things up with my return, again.” He moved no closer. “Would that I had finally stayed dead, Thor?”

“No, you muddled—that is not what I— _ach!”_ Thor’s hand slapped the armrest, and his glare dared Loki to interrupt, but Loki merely tilted his head down in acknowledgment. He would wait. If Thor wanted to speak, let him speak. Loki had time.

After a few frustrated breaths and a visible struggle to keep his temper, Thor indicated the door that had closed behind their sons. “Do you realize—” One more breath, and he started again. “I never knew which was the elder. Didn’t think that day to record it, to give one brother precedence over the other.” He shook his head, gave Loki a pointed look. “As such, we have no clear line of succession. Unless I choose the leatherworker’s daughter, the true eldest who wants nothing of this life. Or Steve Rogers’ Midgardian girl, who inherited your sharp tongue …” Thor laughed a bleak laugh. “Or perhaps—perhaps—I could let them battle each other for it, which _would_ be in keeping with their legacy, yes?

"Norns, what could have compelled you to do this, brother?”

Loki just spread his hands. “I thought—”

“You didn’t think.” The bark, Thor had inherited from his father. However, that Thor was even talking could be interpreted as a good sign.

Loki moved before the throne, hands folded inside his sleeves. “You may set them all aside, brother, for whatever children you have with a wife.” His voice was soft. “I meant to spare you.”

“No, you meant to hurt yourself. Or you thought that I wished you to hurt.” Thor’s expression reminded Loki why he had not once been able to turn him away, even after he understood the price. “I wanted neither of those things, Loki.”

Their relative positions reminded Loki why he had come. To get this over with and perhaps, eventually be allowed to return, freely, from time to time. To see his brother, and, yes, the children who now trained and quarreled and laughed in these halls.

He sank to one knee.

Thor’s reaction was swift and unexpected. “No! Stand—stand, you fool. I will never trust such ready capitulation from you again,” he chided as he rose to his own feet, as he stepped down from the dais. Loki was unsuccessful in completely hiding his smile, and her earned a fresh glare, though a bit more tempered this time.

“Loki,” Thor continued, “you have made such a mess, but, truly, if you had told me with the first, we may never have had the fifth.” Loki saw Thor eye to eye for the first time in a generation. “None will be set aside.” He slipped a hand behind Loki’s neck, then tugged at the long strands of Loki’s hair. “We’ll just have to figure something out.”

Loki’s eyes involuntarily slid shut as Thor’s fingers rubbed his nape. This foolish, persuasive, irresistible creature. Loki sighed at the long-absent touch, found himself leaning into it. “Brother … “ Loki swallowed a small noise of pleasure. “Don’t you realize this was how the mess was made in the first place?” He opened his eyes to peer at Thor, to see what he would do, and got a knowing, if bittersweet, smirk in return.

Thor looked over Loki’s shoulder as Loki noticed, belatedly, that someone was approaching. Ears only for Thor, Loki hadn’t even heard the doors open. He tried to pull away, but Thor caught him with strong fingers on his upper arm, holding him in place. “Forgive me, brother, I am being summoned to prepare for tonight’s feast. We will _speak_ again later.” Loki noticed the emphasis and only raised an eyebrow. Thor released his hold on Loki’s neck and instead brushed his cheek gently, guiding him to turn toward the newcomer. “This one will take you where you are needed.”

But Loki didn’t want to look away yet. “Feast?" His mind searched their calendar. "What—what are you celebrating?”

The footsteps behind him came up short, and he recognized the tone like it was his own … because it was.

“Why, your return, of course, _Mother.”_ Ah. Thor had warned him—Rogers’ child, Loki knew before he turned, with Frigga’s eyes and Thor’s shoulders and Loki’s sharp tongue. His concealment spell could only do so much, after all, and he wondered how the others had taken after their … Oh, fine: _mother_. 

She looked him over critically, then, rolling her eyes at Thor, linked an arm through Loki’s and turned them toward the door, to where he suspected others awaited him. “Welcome home.”

Behind him, as he was strong-armed to the great doors, Loki was fairly certain he heard Thor chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably isn't going anywhere else, though, to be honest, the thought of daddy!Steve busting in and being all, "WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER? ... Oh, hey, Thor," is more than a little intriguing.


	2. Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor handles it. Natasha watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for writeinthehead, who wrote:
> 
>  
> 
> _Dunno if you're still taking prompts, but this only just popped into my head. Maybe you'd be interested: What about Loki dealing w some kind of magic overload/backlash? He overexerted himself on a spell/something went wrong/handwave, & now magic is just sorta seeping out of/fizzling over his skin, he's manic and hyper-sensitized. Cue Thor sitting on him and settling him down w/ magic peen?_

Natasha’s eyes found Loki before anyone else’s did. 

The alien … sorcerer … whatever they were calling him these days had run to ground after successfully defending their band of fighters from that hive of sentient beetles that threatened to—

You know what? Take over Manhattan, blahblahblah, same old godforsaken thing, and Natasha was more than sick of it. Sick of debriefing over it. It had all stopped being interesting an attack or two after the Chitauri defeat.

What was interesting? Right now? Loki, cowering at the entrance to the alley, eyes wide and body quivering with fear, or tension, or—

Where was Thor?

Natasha touched a hand to her earpiece, got the thunder god’s attention. “Something’s wrong with Loki” was all she had to say, and the ground trembled with Thor’s hard landing.

Loki had been … Natasha wasn’t certain of the exact word, but—and she blinked at this—”spectacular” wouldn’t be misused. Arms raised, spellcast streaming from his fingers. One bug, then another, then another … all screeching shrilly and then popping into a fine dust. A nasty brown dust that would take some cleaning, which was a task she and Clint would happily pass on.

That’s what grunts were for.

She stepped up behind Thor, who knelt on the ground over his brother. Heard him say, quietly, “Is it so bad?” Then heard Loki laugh in response, a little desperately. Saw him reach out to Thor’s chestplate, claw at the places where defensive metal gave way to vulnerable flesh under cloth.

“Please, brother,” she heard, and … oh, she knew that tone. Had used it, both falsely and oh-so-sincerely. 

She felt Bruce move into place behind her. Knew it was Bruce by the overexaggerated gentleness, the emphatic quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Not sure yet.” She shrugged at the brothers. “Thor’s handling it.” 

And then … Thor was handling it. Had pulled Loki’s face close to his with a large hand fisted in Loki’s dark hair, and then—

“Oh.  _Oh.”_  That was Bruce. There was no realm in which Natasha was going to express surprise. She wasn’t—really—surprised. The only moment either brother was content was when one was inhaling the other’s breath. That those moments usually came in battle was … incidental. A misdirection. Sleight of hand.

She still didn’t look at Bruce as they both watched Thor heft Loki into a fireman’s carry, arms and torso hanging limply down Thor’s back as one of those great arms pressed Loki’s thighs and knees to his chest. Thor turned to face them, expression sheepish, but … not really. Thor knew what they thought. After a thousand years: also didn’t care.

That’s what she liked about him the most.

“We must go. My brother needs—” Thor paused for a moment, and wasn’t that something. “—tending to.”

And Bruce, being Bruce, wondered aloud, “Maybe that’s something SHIELD can help with,” which was—ha, Bruce.  _Bruuuce._  His own ham-fisted way of guessing what the hell was going on here, as if they couldn’t already tell. Because it’s not like Bruce would recommend SHIELD doctors to anyone.

Thor smirked. And actually slapped Loki once, firmly, on the ass. “That is not the kind of tending-to my brother requires.” Natasha thanked her extensive training for the fact that she _did. not. twitch_  at the guttural sound Loki made, as the lean form squirmed over Thor’s shoulder, feet twisting and digging into Thor’s thighs. 

Once in a lifetime … once in a lifetime …

“Can I watch?” Resolutely did not let her face show surprise at her own words.

Felt Bruce jerk his head toward her, even though she still hadn’t looked at him once. Perhaps he would learn one day: Propriety was for people who led far less interesting lives.

Thor—and thanks to whatever other higher powers simpler people believed in—looked her up and down. Gave a little jerk of his head. “Yes.” His smile warmed, and Loki’s body shook as he giggled, as Thor patted him on the ass once more. “You may come.”

And, at that, Natasha twitched. Just a little. Somewhere down low. And when Thor opened his free arm out to her, to take them wherever he … took them at these times, she didn’t even hesitate.

“Bruce,” she said, giving him a quick, perfunctory glance. Wondered if she should say anything else, but instead kept it simple.

“See you later.”


	3. Heir Apparent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (THOR 2 SPOILERS)
> 
> Loki is simply holding the throne for its next king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-prompt after [a post on lokis-gspot's blog](http://lokis-gspot.tumblr.com/tagged/we-have-deep-analytic-conversations), because, when it comes to Loki and mpreg, that is ALL IT TAKES.

If the guards wondered why Odin All-Father conserved his movements so stingily, they had sense enough not to say it. Not within Loki’s earshot, anyway, and that  _veneer_  of respect was all Loki needed.

It was … yes, surprisingly difficult to maintain this spell, maintain the appearance of the battered old man all day, and every single day, that Loki remained on the throne. Given that he had produced masking spells since adolescence, and they had only grown more complex—more successful—in the meantime …

But not everything was the same. He was no longer a child. No longer a prince. No longer a prisoner.

He was a  _king,_  one with a bare grip on the throne that would unseat him at his first suspicious act.

And one who would birth its next heir, as it turned out.

Loki glanced at the guards to his right with a sour look. Would that he could dismiss them all for more than brief moments, but they expected to remain by the All-Father’s side, ready to protect him, ready to do his bidding … Sending them away for more than trivial errands, and one at a time, would be unacceptable.

So Loki lingered on the throne, accepted visitors, accepted tribute, while the child in his womb spun and grew.

Thor’s seed was powerful, indeed. Loki had mocked his once-brother endlessly when Thor’s particular attribute had manifested, late in his own adolescence. Where he lingered, flowers bloomed, wheat ripened, trees dripped rivers of golden sap …

Women  _blossomed_  with offspring, even those long past their times.

Mother’s face when she learned of the coming of Baldr … Her expression, joyous yet amused, and directed entirely at her eldest. Only at her eldest.

It was time for Thor to breed one of his own.

But … ah, perhaps not with his own brother, though. Not with a Jotunheimr-bred  _pretender._

_That_ could not have been foreseen.

And yet, here Loki was, perched on the throne, belly twisting with the new quickening of their son. While Thor turned his back on his birthright to dally on Midgard with that mortal woman.

Loki made a noise—irritation, disgust—and the guards, to a one, turned to him. So  _attentive._ So  _ready to serve._  Loki drew in a breath to send them all away. Hesitated, and let the breath out, orders trapped in his throat.

He had more to protect than his own skin. Wouldn’t return to that cell with their child in his womb.

He wondered if they would ever discover Odin, frozen in a forced sleep and wedged, quite ignominiously, under some loose floorboards in a cupboard, deep in a wing of the palace few used. He would not wake without the deliberate breaking of the spell. Could stay there forever. If Loki had his way, Odin  _would_  stay there forever.

And Thor, evidently, did not want the throne. The fool.

_But no matter._

No, Loki hadn’t bedded his brother, hadn’t allowed himself to be tumbled, for this outcome. He’d spread his legs and let Thor rut between while the mortal woman slept in another tent, because Thor grieved, because Thor raged, because Thor  _loved his brother_.

Thor truly wanted to  _love_  his brother. Ah. Yes.  _All right,_  then. And Loki discovered that one of Thor’s few natural magicks, the ability to pervert the laws of conception, had only grown stronger.

Their son would look like Thor: blond hair, broad back, a smile that shone like a sun.

But this one?  _This one_  would  _take_  the gift that was given.

Because, unlike his more dull-witted father, their child would grow to crave the power. The title.

The throne.

It was his birthright, after all. And until that day—

Loki sat back in the uncomfortable seat, ignored the guards, and summoned the next petitioner.

Until that day, Loki would hold it for him.

No matter what it took.


	4. Practiced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None would mistake Loki for a maid. And yet ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for stereotypical presentation of male/female sexual dynamics (in Thor's POV).

None would mistake Loki for a maid.

Almost of a height with Thor, and built of his own hard, if lean, muscle, with wide shoulders tapering down to a muscled abdomen, Loki was his own embodiment of the male form.

Dark where Thor was fair; light where Thor was sun-touched. Skin smooth, yes, but lips thin and eyebrows thick and, at times, harsh. No one who saw Loki charging a horse into battle, or wielding a staff in single combat, would doubt that the drive that flowed through his blood, the need to dominate, conquer, and vanquish, was near to the same as his elder brother’s.

Moreover, Thor knew as well as anyone—perhaps  _more_  than anyone—what Loki had between his legs. A thick cock and heavy balls that swung loose within his trousers, whose prominence, even sated, would raise the eyebrows of the men of the court, and inspire the giggles of the blushing girls.

Still.

There was a quality to Loki, one that called to Thor in a way he could not resist, one he had not noticed in any other male in his lifetime of exploration. He felt it when he crowded Loki into a darkened corridor, forcing his body against the stone wall and using his own larger bulk to press him into place.

It was the softness of Loki’s hair when Thor tangled his fingers into it, brushed their rough tips against his silken nape. Tugged and tilted Loki’s head back to expose the narrow column of his neck. (The apple of his throat prominent, yes, and perfect for a small bite, Thor’s teeth maintaining their hold until Loki began to struggle.)

(… and always then a little longer, just to make a point.)

If he didn’t tug Loki’s head back, if Thor instead cupped his face, his jaw—one thumb running through the long hairs that collected and curled in front of his ear—Loki would look up at Thor silently, pupils barely visible just under his long eyelashes, and then lower his gaze again. All perfect submission to the elder brother. The larger male. The lover who had enjoyed him for centuries, and, fates willing, would do so for centuries more.

Such perfect, practiced submission.

And so _calculated._  Because that look, the lowering of Loki’s lids and downward tilt of his head, jaw still tight in Thor’s palm …  _Oh,_  that would fire Thor’s very  _blood._  Light the same drive that saw him ever-triumphant in combat and ever-satisfied in their lovemaking.

Loki’s limbs and flesh would be supple as he was pushed backward into an empty bedchamber. Receptive to touch and direction, both. Wouldn’t speak, or would simply whisper his brother’s name as he trusted Thor to steer him around chairs and low tables until they found a convenient bed.

Not always theirs.

Sometimes the beds were unmade—only recently unoccupied—with the servants having yet to begin their tasks. In those cases, Thor had to work his seduction quickly, with a passion different from that they enjoyed when they had hours at their disposal, in their own chambers or under the cool canopy of nearby woods. But no matter the circumstances, no matter their risk of discovery … Loki wouldn’t remain passive for the duration.

Sometimes it only took one phrase from Thor’s mouth. Such as this time, with Loki already on his back over the linens, knees bent but still together, shoulders braced over his elbows. Eyes fixed on his brother, and one heavy—harsh—eyebrow raised. Thor loomed over him, ready to press him into the bedding with his greater weight and take—oh, just _take._  He put a hand under Loki’s calf, pulled gently, and commanded, “Brother, spread your legs for me,” in just the wrong tone.

Or just the right tone, depending upon one’s point of view.

And Loki, instead of opening his thighs, instead of welcoming Thor easily—warmly—into his body, surged up and used his own palms and strong arms to topple Thor backwards. Straddled him with those silken thighs—heavy bone and muscle ready to squeeze, to punish—and offered instead:

“Brother, it is  _my_  cock that has need of you.” A little upward turn of his mouth, and those same blasted smoothly lowered eyelids. That same practiced submission.

“This time,” he conceded sweetly.

And, yes, Thor himself played the maid that time, and numerous others, because lying on his back, or crouched on his knees, he would feel his brother’s long and gifted cock marking him within, showing Thor as little mercy as he himself received, and Thor would know with certainty:

No, Loki was no maid.

And whatever his brother was, whatever role he chose to play, Thor loved him, and wanted him, and was ever-grateful he could play his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com), where I rant and rave over how awesome everyone else's fic is and bang my head against the wall about my own.


End file.
